A Prey Conquered
by Arctic Tooth
Summary: An apex predator indulges in one of his favorite prey.


A Liepard stopped a few feet from the clearing, hiding among the brush. He had been following a trail for fresh meat for not all that long, an hour at most. Hunting from not much more than a faint smell and footprints took a lot more effort and time.

The sight of his prey relieved him greatly—a few Deerling sought succor in the clearing in the woods. Licking his lips, the purple and yellow cat studied them. All three seemed to be as healthy as any other. Deerling were his favorite after all. Their diminutive size and succulence were just too tantalizing. Setting his eyes right on the Season Pokémon, the Liepard cocked his hind legs ready for—

"Traanquiiil!" A shriek boomed through the trees right above him. Liepard pounced to the nearest one that had been sniffing the ground for berries and roots just a few feet away. The other two forsook their comrade to its certain doom.

The poor soul did not have much time to react. Next thing it knew it rolled and tumbled on the ground for a few turns. When the dust settled, he knew something went wrong, but it was too late. One set of claws was gripping its side and felt undeniably sharp teeth gripping its nape.

Liepard growled threateningly, and Deerling started to convulse in fear. Was this how it was going to die? How was the attacker going to do it? Break its neck? Rip its guts out? Crush its esophagus? Puncture its jugular? The diminutive Pokémon shut its eyes for the inevitable.

Shivers ran down Liepard's spine. Notwithstanding the blabbermouth, it could have been worse. He hoped for more of a struggle, one last ditch effort for freedom. Maybe he would've granted it momentarily, just to snatch it away again. He wanted to relish in his prey's misfortune. A barrage of piss rained down on the dirt, puddling underneath them. At least there was a little trepidation.

The intensification in his chest was too great. Shifting his weight across its shoulders, he forced the victim's face into the earth. His hips hunched erratically. Deerling stopped breathing at this point. A red barbed cock withdrew out of the prepuce, giving Deerling's rump a few jabs.

It wasn't until he stabbed the furry sack that he knew that his prey did not have a vagina. Liepard growled in pleasure. He had no preference for this; a hole was as good as any other one. Given the choice, he preferred anuses slightly. They were not as loose as a bitch in heat, but the tightness was to die for.

Changing course, he finally found it. Deerling mewled in distress, expecting a prolonged death rather than a cock up his ass. A guttural noise was lodged in his throat when the spear lurched just the tip inside him. Letting go of his neck, Liepard pulled Deerling toward his pelvis. Little by little, his puckered little sphincter rolled over his intruder. Exacting greater force, the barbs nicked the intestinal walls. Deerling shrieked, louder and louder, hoping to call back his friends, a passerby—anybody—to his aid.

That noise ended when the cat just lightly enclosed his jaws around the back of his neck. Humiliation—crying, bleating, shaking—Liepard can all put up with (he truly lived up to the moniker of the Cruel Pokémon), but he was not in a position to fend anybody else off. He took a minute to catch his breath, finally inside him to the hilt. Satisfied with the sniveling underneath, his jaws let go. His tongue lapped the blood off his canines. The threat was a little too hard, but it got the message across.

The assault went easier and easier with every thrust, faint traces of blood spattered alongside the shaft. Before he realized it, the bawling largely subsided. Not that Liepard took much of a notice; he was too busy.

Soon Liepard felt the climax focusing on the tip of his schlong. Ramming himself all the way, he latched onto Deerling's nape once again. The prey cried out in pain, feeling the cold trickles of blood drip from his wound. White juice coated the inside of his colon.

When the thick meat slicked out of his Staryu, relief washed over the poor Deerling. The barbed glans was stubborn to leave but a little jerk was all the persuasion it needed to leave. Deerling collapsed on the forest floor. He could feel a cool breeze caressing his bloody gape. The aching muscles and wounds he incurred would heal in time. Warm semen mixed with a bit of blood glazed over his testicles.

Liepard stared at his handiwork. His cock lingered to return to its flaccid state. Even if he wanted another go at the piece of ass, hunger overpowered lust as the stronger sense. Lifting a leg in the air, he lapped the fluids off his member.

Even with the extra time, Deerling still had not left. He laid in his own filth with his rump in the air, his asshole winking at his subjugator. As cute as the display was, there was a stupid young Trainer whose meal was in desperate need of being stolen.


End file.
